


Multitasking

by sherlockholmes_doctorwatson



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom John, M/M, Phone Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Top Sherlock, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 00:27:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2046054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockholmes_doctorwatson/pseuds/sherlockholmes_doctorwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smutlet, one-shot.  Sherlock's expecting a phone call--it's not his fault he's busy when it comes in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Multitasking

**Author's Note:**

> Hey lovely people! So I've been wanting to work on "Enseigne-Moi" for days now but I've been laid up in bed with mono. I promise I'll get back to regular updating as soon as I'm well again, but for now I really don't trust myself to make coherent french sentences. so instead I banged out this smutty little thing... because there's no better medicine than johnlock, right?
> 
> as ever, kudos and comments are delightful. love and kisses cuties xx

Robin flipped open a manila file folder and spread the contents in front of him as his mobile dialed out. He had fingers _and_ toes crossed that this Sherlock Holmes fellow was every bit as good as the papers—and fans—said. The phone rang twice and then a breathless deep voice answered.

“Sh— _hng_ —Sherlock Holmes.”

“Mister Holmes? This is Robin, Robin Barnes. We’ve been emailing. You said to call at my earliest convenience.” Robin lifted the phone off his shoulder and into his palm. The man’s breathing seemed to be quite laboured. “Are you all right?” _Probably chasing a criminal_ , he thought with a wry smile. _Perhaps he really is every bit as dedicated as the media makes it seem._

“Yes, fine. Do tell me more about your mother’s murder.”

Robin winced at that but set his jaw and was about to speak when another voice rang out.

_“Now? You’re answering that NOW?!”_

Holmes sighed. “Would you excuse me for one moment, Mr. Barnes.” There was the distinct sound of the speaker being covered up, a beat of silence, and then out of nowhere a loud smack. Robin jumped. _“Do you want me to stop?”_ Holmes was saying in a dangerously low tone. Robin could swear he heard a whimper at that. _Interrogating a suspect?_ he mused. _And…hitting him?_ The response to Holmes’ question was too low for him to hear, and then the phone was retrieved.

“Do continue.”

Robin frowned. “Well, ah, as I said on email, Mister Holmes, I found her Thursday—no cause of death or nothing, that’s what the coppers say—” Holmes was panting again. Robin raised his voice a bit. “Er—no forced entry or nothing, and the only thing missing from her house was her parakeet.”

“Did— _mmph_ —did the parakeet— _ungh_ —did it talk?”

“Oh yeah, loads. Used to call me ‘momma’s boy’ whenever I came round for tea. Bit annoying, really, but Mum got a laugh out of it.”

The other voice burst out again, only half intelligible. _“Oh, God, Sherl—ock—I’m so […] more, I need […] YES, there, oh…”_

 _“Shut up, John!”_ There was another loud slap.

There was a short moment in which Robin was awfully confused and then it dawned on him. John, John Watson—Sherlock Holmes’ partner. _Apparently quite literally_ , Robin smirked.

Holmes’ deep voice, now gravelly with effort, was in his ear. “Check her— _oh, God_ , check her internet history—”

 _“Harder, Sherl—[…] please don’t […] ohhhh, God,”_ Watson moaned. Robin was beginning to feel very hot under the collar but he stubbornly waited for the rest of Holmes’ deductions.

“—Check her internet history— _FUCK_ —look for an order from, _ohhh_ , from Hong Kong—”

This time Watson’s voice was loud enough that Robin caught every gasped word. _“God Sherlock, harder, I can fucking take it, would you just—bloody—FUCK ME already—”_

And then it became very clear that both men had forgotten about him.

 _“John—so close—look at you, you love it, you_ ache _for my cock in your arse, to feel my come fill you up—look at you—so beautiful—God, so close—”_

Robin felt dizzy. The two men on the line were grunting and panting and moaning like whores and he was palming himself through his trousers, a little voice in the back of his head trying desperately to remind him how sick this was.

 _“Sher—Sherl—Sherlock—oh God…oh God…oh, Jesus right there don’t you fucking stop—”_  
Holmes’ voice was little more than a growl now. _“Oh, John—”_ he panted, _“—I may come now, but—God—I will_ always _own you…”_

_“Oh, God—God—Go—SHERLOCK!”_

_“John—John I’m COMING…John…my God…”_

There was a moment of silence.

_“Oh, God…that was…hang on…”_

_“What’s wrong, John?”_

_“YOUR BLOODY PHONE IS ON THE BLOODY BED, STILL ON THE BLOODY LINE—”_

_“No! No, I hung it up, I swear I—oh, damn…”_

Click.

Robin dropped his mobile and sat dazed in his chair for a moment, murder forgotten, hand still on his the bulge at his groin, the filthy sounds of sex still echoing in his ears. A smile slowly crept across his face, and he reached again for his phone.

“Siri—what’s the number for the Daily Mail?” His grin widened. “I think I’ve got a phone call they might like to hear…”


End file.
